


First and Last

by the_painless_moustache



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 04:34:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1455526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_painless_moustache/pseuds/the_painless_moustache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's never had sex before. John fixes that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First and Last

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Unterpression](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unterpression/gifts).



> This was a a gift for my hugstasis partner [bakerstreetcucumbers](<a%20href=) aka [Unterpression](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Unterpression) on here. You should totally check out both her tumblr and her AO3 because she's perfect

 If Sherlock was going to list his strengths in order, he would put crime solving at the top and relationships at the bottom. His relationships were all like lithium. The moment they hit the air, they turned black and lost all luster. Yes, if Sherlock were to list his strengths, relationships would definitely not be one of them.

 And then there was John.

 John broke nearly every rule Sherlock had set for himself, most important of which was _Do not get attached_. He was more than attached to John. John was a life-line, an anchor in the perfect storm his thoughts created. He would kill before he let John get away from him. Which is why he never said anything.

 But if he were to list John’s strengths, reading Sherlock would be at the top.

 Their first kiss was sloppy and rushed, moments before near-death. It was a now-or-never kiss, and Sherlock was terrified that his first kiss with John would be his last, even after they made it out alive. Then John kissed him again, and again, and again…

 Sometimes he wished John would never stop kissing him. Of course, the doctor insisted on ridiculous things like eating and sleeping and working. And that was the truest measure of Sherlock’s affections. There were days he would much rather kiss John than do any sort of experiments or cases.

 This was very much one of these days.

 They’d started simply enough. Sherlock whining about being bored while lying on the sofa and John sighing every few minutes until finally getting up and pulling Sherlock into a silencing kiss. Now Sherlock has John firmly underneath him. John’s hands were finding spots on Sherlock’s body he didn’t even know could elicit a reaction from him. The dip of skin near his pelvis, the line of his shoulder blade, the back of his thigh…he was on fire, and he tried to put himself out with callow kisses that only served to make things worse.

 John was first to move away, pulling Sherlock by his hair— _oh,_ what wonderful things that did—so he could see his eyes. “I’ve got to sto—oh, _Jesus_ , Sherlock.”

 Sherlock agrees, so he moves his hips again, pulling against the fingers in his hair and letting out a throaty moan to voice his pleasure. John let’s go and tries to move back. Sherlock’s not pleased with this, but he allows John to sit up. John’s eyes are dark, his jaw is trembling. He looks angry and Sherlock feels everything beginning to crumble.

 And then John cups his face and kisses him again. “I need a minute,” he mutters roughly “so I can properly breathe without wanting to shag you senseless.”

 Sherlock growls and presses John back against the couch. “I rather think you should shag me senseless.”

 John shivers. “You said you hadn’t—”

 “I haven’t. And I won’t if you bloody stop now.”

 “God, Sherlock…you’re sure?”

 “Kiss me or get out.” Sherlock orders, but it comes out as more of a plea. John hauls him forward, fitting their hips together beautifully. Sherlock’s breath hitches, and John takes his mouth when he gasps. He can feel John’s erection against his own, can feel the heat and the nerves firing at an increasingly rapid pace. Sherlock pulls at John’s shirt—a t-shirt, worn and fitted and perfect—to get it out of his way. The only flaw in his plan is John has to move back to get the clothing off, so he compensates with a roll of his hips.

 John convulses with a moan, grabbing Sherlock’s hips immediately to hold him still. “Fuck, Sh—oh, shit, hold on.”

 “You have a filthy mouth, Captain Watson.” Sherlock breathes, running his hands over John’s chest. Perhaps he wasn’t as toned as he once might’ve been, but he was still fit. There was bit of thin blonde hair over his sternum, a bit more peeking out from his jeans. Sherlock traces all the lines on John’s chest he can see, lastly brushing over the scar that had brought them together. John shivers again. “I’d love to hear more.” Sherlock decides.

“Believe me, you will.” John chokes out. Sherlock smirks and leans forward to just touch the tip of his tongue to John’s bottom lip teasingly. John tries to catch him before he pulls back, but Sherlock’s quicker and fixes the flash of annoyance by grinding against him. John catches his hips now, pushing back up. Sherlock’s overwhelmed nearly immediately. John’s hands on his hips to keep them pressed together, the constant friction, the filthy words coming from John’s mouth—“Fuck, Sherlock, you look gorgeous. I can’t wait to see you come. God. Someday I’m going to fuck you, right here, just like this, you riding my cock…oh, _fuck_.”

 Sherlock’s hands fumble with the button on John’s jeans for a millisecond too long. Once he gets the jeans open, John moves him away to push them down. Sherlock catches a flash of fabric—John’s pants—and then John’s cock is in front of him, bare and red and swollen. All of Sherlock’s functions have shut off. He can do nothing but stare.

 John lifts his chin to focus his attention. “Yes or no?”

 He nods yes.

 “Pyjamas off, then.”

 Sherlock shimmies them down to his knees, leaning forward. His own erection brushes John’s bare skin and he nearly collapses. Just the barest of touches and he’s on edge. John situates him between his legs and fits their cocks together, working them lazily with one hand. Sherlock moans and tries to buck forward, but John squeezes in warning. Sherlock looks up at him imploringly. “I want this to last. Your first should be good.”

 “Then stop _teasing_ me.” Sherlock whines.

 John grins, and the look goes straight to Sherlock’s groin. He shudders, and John squeezes, but softer this time. Sherlock can hear someone begging—“God, please, John, please, I’ll do anything, please, please!”—and he thinks it might be him. He doesn’t even realized he’s collapsed into John until he hears the gravely tone of his voice in his ear.

 “Listen to you. God, I could listen to this for hours. One day, I will, I think.” Sherlock bites into John’s shoulder. Not hard, but enough that John’s breath hisses out between his teeth. “You want to come, don’t you?”

 Sherlock moans.

 “I’m going to let you.” John promises, and Sherlock swears he feels a hint of tongue against the shell of his ear. “More than that, I’m going to _make_ you. Don’t forget, Sherlock. Don’t you ever forget I was the first person to see you like this. To do this to you.” John bites his earlobe. “First and last.”

 Sherlock’s foggy brain manages to make a broken thought resembling _how could I ever forget you?_ and then John thrusts up once, twice, thr—

 Sherlock gasps and his eyes open wide. Despite this, he’s completely blind to everything but the sensation of John’s hand between his legs and the spasms he’s causing with his surprisingly dexterous fingers. The first sense that returns is his hearing, and John’s hushing him, slowly stroking him still. The second sense is his sense of feeling, and only because John’s fingers are starting to sting. The rest follow soon after in a rush. He raises his head and grips John’s wrist, meeting his eyes with some difficulty. He feels limp, weak; like John has somehow taken all his energy from him. John smirks and uses his other hand to pull Sherlock a fraction closer so they can kiss.

 Sherlock pulls back and collapses onto John’s chest. Just when John’s breathing starts to deepen, he mumbles the words into his doctor’s skin. _I won’t forget._

 


End file.
